


I Got You (Under My Skin)

by izazaa (crazyground)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Sex Pollen, kinda sorta sex pollen au...?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 21:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyground/pseuds/izazaa
Summary: A curse from Merasmus misfires and hits Sniper instead. Despite circumstances, Spy is surprisingly sporting.





	I Got You (Under My Skin)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: the slight dub-con undertones that come with sex pollen/magic made them do it aus, canon-compliant violence, graphic gore, self-harm, suicide played for laughs (sends himself through respawn)

The package that comes for Soldier is an innocuous brown paper wrapped box, about the size of a soup can. Knowing Soldier, it probably _is_ a soup can, but it's been a slow week, the BLU team so thoroughly defeated that they barely made an effort on the battlefield these days. So they gather around the kitchen table, peering curiously at it.

"It's prolly another stupid soup can," Scout scoffs, but pushes himself between Heavy and Demo for a better look anyway.

"You dunnae mail order soup cans one at a time," Demo points out, elbowing Scout away again.

Heavy takes a large bite of his sandvich.

"Well, _I_ hope it _is_ a soup can!" Soldier declares, and promptly started to tear at the wrapping.

Sniper – he'd been napping at the table, hat low over his eyes, before he had been so rudely awaken – has the best view of the box. As such, he can see the label that said this way up… and it is pointing down at the table. There is also the slightest rumble, that is quickly growing more violent. "Hey," he begins.

There is a great big bang as the box burst, and shoots upwards, knocking Soldier's helmet clear off his head. Whatever is in the box is billowing ominous green smoke across the table, thick and hazy and putrid.

"'the hell?!" Demo yelps, brandishing his bottle of scrumpy before him.

Suddenly, a teeny voice squeaks, "Bow down, mortals!"

From the green smoke emerges a miniature Merasmus, the height of a soup can. He scowls, and waved his toothpick staff in what he seems to think was an intimidating manner. "The great Merasmus has grown weary of your meddling!"

"Let a terrible curse be upon –"

Heavy crushes it beneath one thick fist. "There, done," he announces, and is about to go back to his sandwich, when the green smoke swirls out from beneath his fist, and congeals again into a mini Merasmus, still shrieking, "– that he who hides his face! Cannot hide his feelings!"

It is clearly meant for Soldier, but because his helmet had been knocked off, it rushes towards the one person whose face is still hidden – Sniper. Squawking, he swipes it away with his hat – too late! – flailing his arms until he topples over with a loud crash.

"– cursed forever! To bone until you're reduced to bones!" And on that awful note, it vanishes as abruptly as it appeared, green smoke dissipating into thin air.

There is a pause, before Scout bursts into peals of laughter.

"B-bone!" he wheezes out, slapping his knees.

"Bugger," says Sniper, with feeling.

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Spy steps into the hallway of the main building, Demo dramatically flings himself in his path, wailing _No! You cannae come this way!_ as though he doesn't know Spy would take this as a challenge and do the exact opposite. Digging his heel in, Spy sets the exact direction Demo tries to block him from – the kitchen, as it turns out.

Upon reaching, he is utterly unimpressed with the scene he finds – a cluster of mercs huddled behind the overturned kitchen like it will shield them from… Sniper, hunched over on a lone kitchen stool, sitting so close to the wall that his knees and brim of his hat are pressed up against it.

All well within the usual nonsense his teammates gets into, though what is a tad stranger is how Soldier next throws himself at him, again attempting to block his path.

"Have you all degenerated further in my absence?" Spy demands, shoving Soldier away with one polished Italian shoe to his chest.

"Would be better if Spy went away," Heavy informs him solemnly. Spy raises an eyebrow in surprise; he normally trusts Heavy to resist such shenanigans off the battlefield.

"What's going on then?" And then takes out a cigarette because of course they start clamoring to tell him all at once, thus drowning each other out.

Fortunately, Demo has chased him to the kitchen, and while slinging an arm around his chest from behind, attempting to bodily drag him away, he explains the entire mess in urgent, whiskey-reeking hisses.

"So he's cursed?" Spy eyes Sniper's morose form. "Doesn't seem like it to me."

"In my professional opinion," Medic declares, poking Sniper in the arm with his medical instrument of choice – the large wooden spoon Engie makes chili with, "there is nothing physically wrong with him!"

"… Huh." Demo lets go off him suddenly, causing Spy to stumble into the kitchen. "Maybe you're right, he seems fi –"

" _Please_ ," says Sniper as the clack clack of Spy's expensive Italian shoes near him, in a low, careful voice that nonetheless cuts through the din easily, " _leave_."

"Ah," replies Spy, who does not, in fact, leave. He sounds more pained than Sniper.

"I knew it! I knew you two were boning!" Scout cackles. "Hey, hey, how does the Frenchie look to you right now, huh? Handsome? Ravishing?"

Face wiped clean of expression, Sniper replies, "Yes."

In unison, they abruptly scamper back, then turn to look at Spy, who has frozen in the act of getting another cigarette.

"And stop saying bone," Sniper adds, through gritted teeth.

Collective cringe. Six and a half pairs of eyes pingpongs between Sniper and Spy for a terse moment, before Sniper breaks the silence:

"If you'll all excuse me," he says, and then stands so fast the chair clattered across the floor. In four long strides, keeping his back to Spy the entire time, he crosses the kitchen to the open window over the sink, and climbs out.

"This is the third storey," Engie observes.

There is a sickening crunch, a terse silence, and then resounding in the distance, the respawn hums to life.

"Right," says Spy. Retreating out of the kitchen, he spins on his heel, and strides down the hallway in the opposite direction of the respawn hall.

 

* * *

 

 

It is decided that Demo and Soldier, their local occult expert and occult magnet, will leave to find a cure, or at least beat it out of Merasmus. Spy is secretly rooting for the latter. Either way, he resolves to remain scarce as much as possible until the curse had broken – a resolution that Demo belays almost immediately, by cornering him before he and Soldier leaves on their quest to vanquish the curse.

"Ah, Demo!" he calls. Best to seize the bull by its horns.

Demo's eye widens in surprise. He hadn't expected such a greeting, had probably expected Spy to flee instead. "Spy –"

Trying to wrest hold of the situation, Spy cuts him off hastily, "I wish you well on your quest!"

"Thank you, but first –"

"That you are _leaving_ for." The front door is _just there,_ and if he can just get this great Scottish lump to move…!

"I need to talk to you about Sni –"

_"Right now."_ He stinks of booze, but Spy is willing to get up close and personal, and bodily heave him out the door if necessary.

"The curse is gunna make him –"

"Have a safe _departure!"_ Spy finishes pointedly, but Demo takes no heed.

_"Suffer!!"_ Demo howls, anguished.

Wheezing, Spy slumps against the hallway wall. "And that's tragic for him, but I do not see how it has anything to do with me. I have little care for that filthy bushman."

Demo thumps him on the shoulder, single eye wide and glimmering. "Ach, dunnae say that. You and I both know that ain't true."

Spy arches an eyebrow and stares him down, but of course Demo isn't cowed. Spy sighs. "You are irritatingly observant for a cyclops."

"I feel it's my fault – _our_ fault, you know?" Demo winces as Spy glowers at him. The plan had been easy enough to figure out, when he'd heard the curse was meant for Soldier. And it was a smart plan, admittedly. Get Soldier and Demo to fall in love with each other, get rid of the both of them. Joke's on Merasmus, however; what goes on behind their closed doors is an open secret. Love certainly isn't what was missing with _that_ duo. Missing brain cells maybe. Or the distinct lack of self-preservation that has Demo still standing in front of Spy, even as Spy's finger twitches for his balisong. "But we'll fix it, I swear! You just gotta help make sure Snipes survives that long. I'm amazed he hasn't flung himself at you yet."

_Survives?_ "He has better self control than that."

"Ain't about the self control. Merasmus may be an awful character but his curses are no joke. Have you nae heard of Romeo and Juliet?"

"We are hardly besotted teenagers," Spy snaps.

Demo shakes his head pityingly. "Did you think it was normal for teenagers to just off themselves, besotted or nae?"

Narrowing his eyes, Spy demands, "Are you insinuating –"

"Shakespearicles dinnae become the greatest playwright by putting on _false_ vulgar plays for the peasants!" He pauses to frown thoughtfully. "Well, not _just_ by doing that, anyway. Or the rocket jumping –"

Spy interrupts: "Are you telling me he'll try to kill himself if he doesn't have me?" That is hard to believe; aside for Sniper's obnoxious composure, Spy knows for a painful fact that Sniper is perfectly happy not having him.

"You saw what he did yesterday!" Demo insists.

"He respawned!" After throwing himself out of the window in front of the whole team – and they thought Spy's the theatrical one.

"So this bloody base won't let him die, aye, but it just means he's trapped with the magic all twisting up his insides!"

Spy winces at the thought of _Sniper_ in anguish over _him_ for once… It should be satisfying, but instead it wrenches at something behind his ribs.

"I'm not saying you have to throw rose petals on a bed and seduce him, but… Just think about it." Giving Spy's shoulder a last pat, he ambles towards the door at last, leaving Spy uneasy and conflicted.

 

* * *

 

 

The mission was bloody awful. He couldn't do anything all day but follow Spy around with his scope, picking off the BLUs who got too close to him, and abandoning every other teammate in the meantime. At some point, when the opposition's Spy found his nest and tried to ambush him, Sniper had walked right into his balisong to quell his erection. It worked until he next glimpsed red smoke, and then the awful cycle repeated again. And again. And again until the Announcer blared their victory, a closer shave than it had been all month.

For a good hour after that, Sniper skulks in his camper van, a disgusting mess of sweat and dirt and blood that wasn't even his own, cleaning and oiling his weapons to a perfect shine to compensate. When he's sure that everyone else must be done with their clean up, he sneaks out and heads for the locker room.

Though he hunches over the half-pitched tent in his jeans just in case, Sniper doesn't run across a single of his teammates. Hopefully, they've caught on and will continue to mercifully clear the coast for him. Upon reaching, the shower room is blessedly empty.

The water is unheated, and runs tepid most of the time, but as it hits his heated skin, Sniper gasps. It's _freezing._ However, he holds himself still under the spray despite the harsh trembling that wrecks his gangly frame. The plan is to drown himself in long, _long_ cold showers, where the temperature would either kill his near constant erections, or kill him with pneumonia. Sniper isn't sure which one he'd prefer.

When he's been there long enough for his extremities to start numbing, it seems to be working. All he can concentrate on at that point was not biting his tongue off with his violent shivering, and he longs more for the blazing Australian sun rather than a certain, masked, sharp suited…

Bugger.

Against all odds, his cock twitches under the icy spray.

_Bugger._

Just as he resolves to stay under at least another hour, however, a thin wristed hand shoots past him, and slaps off his shower faucet.

"Was falling to your death not enough?" Spy demands, radiating so much indignation that the water dotting his suit and seeping up his trouser legs seems to evaporate off him. "Are you trying to drown yourself next?"

"Yes," Sniper barks, digging his nails into his palms hard enough that they bleed, "Now _leave."_

Spy, the bloody bastard, hasn't gotten any better at respecting his wishes in the months of their… separation. He does leave, for a short minute, before he is back, tossing a towel at his head. Sniper rips it off as though burnt. Pity or kindness – either way, Spy is treating him far nicer than he deserves.

"Piss off!" he tries to say, but the sound that escapes him is feral and incomprehensible.

Spy tenses, but does not leave. Damn him, _damn him._ "I've been informed that you might expire if not given… relief. Since this seems a matter of life and death, there's no reason we can't be _professional_ about this."

Sniper flinches at the taunt, a full bodied convulsion, before he lets out a sharp laugh. "Then have it your way!"

In the blink of an eye, Sniper has him shoved against the freezing tiles, and pins him there with the achingly hot press of his body. His cock is already rock hard, and his hips jolts forward to grind against Spy's thigh, once, twice, before he gives a full body shudder, and regains just enough self-control to rip himself away, a scant but well fought for inch of space between them.

This break in the normally infallible assassin's composure must have shaken Spy because his voice wavers. "Are you alright –"

"Stay still!" Sniper shakes with the effort to hold himself back as he waits for Spy's response.

Spy's breath hitches, and his eyes narrow, but he complies. He doesn't expect it when Sniper crowds into his space, only to headbutt his shoulder and nuzzle, a wet spot blooming on his suit jacket right above his heart. Then there is a rustling as Sniper fumbles a cold, shaking hand between them, both swallowing a gasp as it grazes against Spy's stomach.

The ice of his own fingers makes Sniper keen, but doesn't dissuade his arousal, not with Spy close enough that he can feel his body heat radiating off him, in agonizing contrast to Sniper's chill. Just like that, with that one point of contact between his forehead and the crook of Spy's neck, he jerks himself off hard and fast. Doesn't say a word, the only sound his harsh breathing and the sound of his hand working his cock. He tenses suddenly, mouth wide in a wordless cry, and then he is scrambling to catch his release in his towel.

When it is over, Sniper slumps against him,heaving. Despite the release, desperation knots his throat. Every cell in his body still sings for Spy. Sheer longing smothers him. Sniper bites sharply on his lower lip, pain snapping him out of his stupor, and once again, he is able to tear himself away from Spy.

_Away._ Sniper has to get away. Any longer and he wouldn't be able to hold himself back, and Spy. Spy doesn't deserve any of this, deserved better than him. With a low guttural noise, he staggers out of the locker room. His eyes are glistening but it must be the pain; he has bitten clean through his lower lip.

 

* * *

 

 

Thankfully, Sniper had been looking everywhere else but at Spy, and hadn't noticed him trying to wrestle down his erection to no avail. Sighing, Spy had glared disapprovingly at the tent his cock was pitching, before heading back into the shower. He'd been waiting for the shower anyway, before Sniper tried to waste his time by drowning himself in it.

God, Sniper isn't the only one who's weak. And isn't it Spy who had been weak all along? And _stupid_ , to think that they'd meant something more than… _more._ But oh how he had wanted all the Sniper is, lust and blood lust and kisses tasting of iron and smoke, the danger of the battlefield brought to the bed, and then tamed under Sniper's heavy arm, draped across his waist and pulling him closer as they lay panting between the sheets – _wants,_ despite knowing better now, despite –

There is a knock on his door. Spy looks up sharply from his musings, rushes to compose himself before he realises no one has announced themselves, nor does anyone open the door he keeps unlocked.

He gets up regardless, striding to the door. He's sure he heard a thunk…

It must have been made by his forehead, because when Spy opens the door, Sniper plunges in head first. Sniper yelps, flailing wildly, but Spy has had a lot of practice grappling with those long limbs, and catches him easily.

"I'm starting to worry about brain damage," says Spy softly, one arm around Sniper's waist and holding him steady, as he sweeps his sweat-soaked fringe aside to reveal an impressive bump already starting to swell.

"Was a mistake –" Sniper heaves in a dying man's breath, fingers digging into Spy's hips on both sides "– can't stop thinking about you."

"You think of me?" Spy can't help himself. "Well, this is new."

Sniper gives a full body flinch. "But you said… _Professional_ …" he trails off, his uncharacteristic hesitancy stinging them both.

"Of course, my apologies." And Spy does mean it, shame building like bile at the back of his throat. Whatever had happened between them has only a peripheral bearing on this, he tries to convince himself. It isn't Sniper's fault that he had been cursed, nor his fault that Spy remains the only one he is willing to fuck. And would Sniper not do the same for him – Spy cuts himself off there. That he doesn't know the answer only complicated things further. This – holding out a helping hand to a teammate in need – should be simple. "Come here."

It's like a switch has been flipped, because suddenly Sniper has seized him by the lapels, and slammed him into the door. Spy's head bounces off the hardwood with a resounding thud, and through the pain, he tenses and clenches his fists in anticipation, just in case he takes it a step too far… And just as quickly, horrified at his own violence, Sniper groans into Spy's neck, breath panting damply against the fabric of his balaclava. "I can't," he hisses, voice hoarse, "Stop me."

In all honesty, Spy had not intended to, but since he asked – a neat punch to the stomach has Sniper doubling over, gasping with something like relief, and one to the jaw has him caving in a dead faint. Spy catches him before he hits the ground, one arm behind his back for support. Even through his thick hunter's vest, he can feel the heat coming off him. Spy heaves a sigh; he can't exactly leave him on the floor of his smoking room, nor carry him back to his own room across the base, so reluctantly, and with much effort, Spy hauls him into his adjoining bedroom, and tosses him onto the bed.

For a moment, Spy perches at the edge of the bed and watches him. Now here's a sigh he hadn't expected to see ever again, Sniper back in his bed, a sheen of sweat atop that flushed skin.

Gritting his teeth, Spy tears himself away and returns to his desk. There are still pilfered documents that need sorting through, sneaky espionage to plan, but he finds himself no longer able to concentrate. Irritated, he sets his pen down and pinched his nose bridge. He has to be getting soft, if a single bungled affair is able to affect him this much. The smallest ray of magic induced hope at reconciliation and he's been distracted to the point of uselessness.

Reclining heavily against the back of his chair, Spy squeezes his eyes shut against an impending headache. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knows, he is jostled awake as Sniper shoves his chair back and crowds him into it, leaning over him as his hands grip the arms of his chair so tightly that Spy fears for its leather upholstery.

"Stop me," Sniper repeats, and though his voice is still breaks, it rings different. His control has returned, and he holds himself perfectly still, poised in wait. It is only when Spy has had plenty of time to refuse, but _doesn't_ , that he crashes their mouths together. Their teeth click painfully together, as Sniper bites and licks his way into Spy's mouth, moaning with need.

Sniper drags himself away and gulps air like a man drowning. He pushes Spy's chair back, and stuns Spy by dropping to his knees, and pushing his thighs apart. Spy's stupor only lasts until Sniper whines, and begins mouthing him through his slacks. Groaning, Spy snaps into action, unbuckling his belt and yanking it off as Sniper rubs his cheek against his inseam impatiently. Sniper waits only long enough for Spy to unzip his pants, then dives in to pull his cock out and swallows him down.

Spy hisses at the abrupt heat. It isn't long before Sniper's talented tongue draws him to full hardness. He makes the mistake of glancing down; the sight of Sniper, eyes fluttering with pleasure, palming himself through his pants as he laps and licks and sucks, has him thrusting up erratically into into his mouth. At once, an arm falls across his hips like a steel beam, pinning him down, controlling, and Sniper growls possessively around his cock.

With a choked gasp, Spy empties himself into Sniper's mouth, but still Sniper doesn't release him, throat working around the head of his cock until Spy is writhing helplessly at the overstimulation and he'd coaxes out every last drop.

Finally, Sniper pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. For a blessed moment, there is only a white out euphoria and the sounds of their heavy panting. And then Sniper is on his feet, mumbling, "I. I'll just be –" as he make for the door in wobbly, ungainly steps.

_"Merde,"_ Spy mutters, and the way that Sniper jolts at the vulgarity only aggrieves him further. He hooks a finger into Sniper's belt hoop and dragged him back over. Isn't sure what he's going to say, then is distracted by the tent in Sniper's pants. Still? No – Yanking his pants down, Spy is surprised to find Sniper has already come, but his cock, cum drenched, is already eager and straining as Spy's breath huffs over it. If he needs any proof of the curse, there it is.

Red faced with humiliation, Sniper tries to pull away, but Spy won't allow it. Backing him onto the desk, Spy swiftly licks a clean stripe up his length. Sniper cries out, hands clenching around his shoulders to steady himself. Spy grips his thigh hard, fingers digging into the tender flesh as warning, then takes him down to the hilt. Sniper bent double around Spy's head in effort not to thrust, panting harshly.

Embarrassingly quick, Sniper comes again, splattering across Spy's mask.

"There, now we're even," Spy says, gruff, throat wrecked. He touches the pearly wet spots on his mask with a grimace, then pulls it off and tosses the sodden thing aside. The action causes Sniper to flinch, staring at him with an almost frightened expression, akin to a deer caught in headlights.

"What? You've seen my face before." Granted, Spy had revealed it to him in his more idealistic moments, but what's done is done, and it isn't as though he can make Sniper forget.

"I, that, it's not." Sniper gives up on words. Zipping himself back up, he turns, bangs into the corner of the desk, and spills the rest of the way to the door. Before he even finishes yanking the door open, he is fleeing down the hallway.

Spy groans and slumps back down in his seat.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Sniper swore he had smelt arousal wafting off Spy. It was difficult to notice anything the night before when he slunk with his tail between his legs back to Spy's room – Spy in his lap, thumb digging into his neck just beneath his pulse point to warn him against attacking, his other hand punishingly tight around his cock – but Sniper had nosed into his starched collar and found the heady musk of smoke and lust. It must have been the side effect of the curse, of course, that swindled him into thinking so, but the thought of Spy wanting him back, if only just physically, stalks him for the rest of the day.

Biting on the inside of his cheek, Sniper fidgets about his perch. He'd popped the button of his jeans but they are still painfully restrictive, erection straining against the zipper.

Naturally, the day's mission is quickly becoming the worst he'd ever performed in a long while. He keeps missing, and the errant bullet's trajectory would give away his position. But at very least, all that barely restrained libido got his blood pumping, had him running faster than ever. And there was a lot of running, having to seek out a new sniping post with every missed shot. By the second hour, Sniper gave up pretence of actually sniping. Instead, he'd take the shot, miss, and then ready himself for a brawl whenever an enemy came gunning for him.

Just his luck that the enemy Spy comes for him next, teasing, "You seem under the weather, bushman."

It isn't _him_ but that French lilt is enough to get his blood boiling. With a snarl, Sniper sprang at him, kukri slashing haphazardly. But his heart isn't in it, is lost somewhere in the depths of the enemy base. With an anguished howl, Sniper lunges again with all his might, and as the BLU Spy side steps the attack easily, he shoots Sniper such a look of pity, that buggering weasel, how dare –

The knife plunges into his back, off kilter, his erratic movement must have thrown the spy's aim off. There is an aggrieved sigh above him, then a searing wrench as the blade swerves in his flesh, to sever his spine.

As he spills out of respawn limbo, Sniper's already forgotten the enemy Spy. _The thing is,_ he'd smelt arousal off Spy, he knows he did, and if Spy wants him back, where's the harm in abandoning this mission, hunting him down, and plowing his brains out? Nothing, except – the way Spy had looked at him in the last days of their relationship, bewilderment, grit as he bit his tongue, that ugly sneer trying to mask the hurt in his eyes.

With an anguished groan, Sniper sank to the floor, guilt and want and remorse and fiery lust dueling viciously inside him. He half-rises only to collapse again when a nearby explosion rocks the earth. God, he'd no intention of returning to the battlements. He wanted Spy, he needed to touch, he needed to claim and conquer, even if it meant throwing away this mission and his professional pride, even if it meant forcing Spy to –

_No._ Sniper rips out his kukri and with a garbled scream, plunges it into his gut. Blood gushes from the gaping wound but that excruciating pain is a relief. The world spins and darkens. With the last of his strength, Sniper holds the blade steady in his gut, so as not to bleed to death too quickly, to be put whole again by respawn and returned to hell.

The world blurs in and out of focus. The blaring of sirens that signals the end of the mission. That maddening whiff of cologne. Scout's panicked about as they find him. Suddenly, he's being jostled, whimpering with pain as he is dragged across the base.

The command centre. The crackling of a call put on loud speaker. Demo, frantic and gibbering, telling them, what? Sniper tries to focus over the haze of pain and blood loss, tries to ask him to speak up only for frothy, bright red spit to dribble down his chin. Dimly, he feels the weak pulse of the medigun surround him, then the bubbling squelch of his stomach as it tries to heal around his kukri.

Demo's voice sharpens:

"'e says he cannae lift the curse –" the unmistakable crackle of fire, Soldier shouting in the distance, " – but it's kinda hard to beat a thousand year witch into submission with just two people! He could be lying! We'll just –"

The transmission screeches abruptly, then cuts off, leaving them in terse silence. His sense returning, Sniper thrashes weakly, fingers clumsily fumbling around the hilt of his kukri.

Finally, Medic sighs, shuts off his medigun, and indicates to Heavy with a flick of his wrist to remove the kukri from Sniper's gut. Sniper writhes away in protest but to no avail; the blade is yanked out in a sloosh of gore, and Sniper dies.

 

* * *

 

 

When there is a knocking at his door ― a loud bang which is wrangled back into a restrained tapping ― Spy doesn't hesitate, only stands from his desk and walks towards the door to his adjoining bedroom.

"Come in," he calls, unlocking the door, then turns in the nick of time to catch Sniper by the throat, slowing him down just enough that he can tumble them into the bedroom, and lock the door behind them.

"I want," Sniper gasps, and the rest is lost in sloppy kisses down the side of Spy's neck but it doesn't matter. Spy, popping the buttons of his expensive shirt as he rips it off himself, will give him anything he wants.

They fall into bed like that, an inevitability, a wild tangle of limbs, barely breaking apart to strip. Sniper groans with relief at the slide of their naked bodies together, slick with sweat and hot to the touch. The urge to impale him is overwhelming but Sniper can't, won't hurt him, distracts himself by hooking Spy's legs over his shoulders, pressing a kiss to his knee before nipping his way down the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

Spy shudders around him, little huffing whines that morphs into a loud moan when Sniper licks into him, tongue flattening over that twitching pucker and laving it with spit. One finger, and then two, reveling as Spy digs his heels desperately into his back.

"Enough," Spy yowls, "Fuck me, take me, now, _now."_

That clever tongue is replaced by the blunt head of Sniper's cock. Sniper pushes into him in one powerful thrust, snarls, _at last,_ and then begins to fuck him in earnest. Wailing, Spy's head lolls back and his mouth falls agape. It is all he can do to cling on for dear life, bucking against wave after wave of ecstasy.

They cannot keep this up for long without shaking to pieces. With a snarl, Sniper surges into him and spills. At the hot gush of cum inside him, Spy clenches down, mouth wide in a wordless cry, and spurts between them.

Before Spy can regain coherence, Sniper pulls out with a pained grunt, only to flip him over and yank his hips up so that his ass sticks up in the air. And then he is fucking back into Spy, cock sinking into the sodden wreck of him with ease.

Spy gives a strangled cry, scrambling for purchase on the stained sheets. "What –?" he gasps, collapsing face first into the pillow, still shuddering from his release. He feels all wet and wrung out and yet there's a fire in him that keeps spreading, slicks his insides and makes him keen with desire. Spy thrashes weakly in Sniper's hold, to no avail. It must be the magic, this overwhelming need, it has to be.

"Spy, Spy, I can't stop – are you –"

"Who's asking you to stop? More, I want more, Sniper, I want –" _you,_ a thousand times over. Spy cried out, clawing at Sniper's broad shoulders, half holding him back, half dragging him closer. God, if this was what Sniper had endured then he had clearly underestimated the repressed bushman's self-control. He should be spent, but his erection hasn't quelled, and his body is still coiled with lust. Whimpering, he grinds his hips back, screwing himself onto Sniper's cock.

"Spy, _Spy."_ Voice quivering as he begs, so at odds with the brutal pace of his rutting. Sniper bites down on the knobby curve of Spy's neck as his head hangs low. It's not enough that he has Spy writhing underneath him; Sniper folds himself over Spy's back, nipping his earlobe and licking the whorl of his ear until finally Spy shudders and turns his head to let Sniper fit their mouths together in an awkward, greedy kiss.

From this angle, Sniper can just barely see the sweat dripping off his temple, the fan of his eyelashes clumped together with tears. Every piston of his hips forces out of Spy high, keening whimpers that reverberate between the press of his back to Sniper's chest. Sniper pulls back to bury his face between Spy's shoulder blades, moaning desperate and ruined.

 

* * *

 

 

At the first crash, Sniper jolts awake, and when green miasma wafts up into view from Spy's window, he leaps out of bed. He trips – Spy's arm around his waist has tethered him – and sprawls across the floor, morning wood connecting painfully with the floorboards, but at once he is pushing to his feet. His screaming, aching muscles cannot slow him down. Merasmus! A chance for cure! Such is his excitement that he doesn't notice Spy, earlier awoken, watching him blankly as he lights a cigarette, then blows the smoke at the ceiling, expression shuttered.

The battle is raging on in full force when Sniper finally stumbles out with his rifle. It is chaos all around, the bastard levitating in the yard, flinging curse after curse at his defending teammates.

Gnashing his teeth, Sniper hefts his rifle, and blows the skull off Merasmus' greasy hair.

"Lift the curse!" Sniper bellows. His clothes sizzle as the miasma eats at the fabric, but he presses on, raising his rifle again.

"I cannot! This is complex magic only I am capable –" Merasmus shrieks as a bullet streaks past his ear. "You have to fulfill its conditions!

"What bloody conditions?!" Sniper roars. A curse smacks right into his chest, and he feels several ribs breaking, but Medic quickly comes to his aid, abandoning Heavy to bathe him in red light. He springs back to his feet?

"It's spelled out in the curse!" Merasmus howls, "What did you think _cannot hide his feelings_ meant? If only you plebeians would just listen to me for once in your miserable –"

Despite the battle, Demo screeches to a halt, bewildered. "Why on Earth would feelings doom us?"

"But – but you're idiots!" Merasmus stomps his feet angrily. "You were too stupid not to read the one book I forbid you from touching –"

"A young boy cannot be blamed for his childlike curiosity!"

Ignoring Demo's protest, Merasmus whirls upon Soldier next. "And you! You're – _American!"_

"What's that supposed to mean, maggot?!" Soldier bristles. "As an American I believe in freedom! And opportunity for all!" He gestures to his crotch. _Opportunity for all._

"But you're – fools! Cretins! Emotionally constipated asshats! You wouldn't be able to recognise love even if it worked your nonexistent brains out!"

While offended, Sniper has a dawning horror of Merasmus' spiel is heading, and frantically he lines up shot after shot, exploding debris and dissipating spells to get a clearer view. As he jams his thumb in the lock bolt, a flying crate hurtling towards him explodes in mid air. A shooter from above! Everyone else is already in the yard; it has to be Spy, from his bedroom window, awake to hear this unwitting confession. Bugger. Bloody hell. _Fuck._

"What do you mean?!" bellows Soldier – not Soldier, but someone above, using his voice. Definitely Spy. When Sniper cranes his head up, he catches glimpse of the Ambassador's muzzle sticking out from a high window.

"To dispel the curse, the object of your fixation doesn't have to fall in love with you! He just has to realise _you_ love –"

"Shut up, shut up!" Sniper yells, except it is too late for that. There is an almost audible ping in the air as comprehension dawns, and then Sniper's vision is engulfed by lime green smoke, thick and choking, before it lifts, taking the cloud of insatiable lust with it.

Composure regained, Sniper raises his rifle with steady hands, and shoots Merasmus dead centre between his eyes. Merasmus howls, a spiderweb of fissures spreading from the bullet hole, glowing that same awful green, before he finally implodes into dust. With a yell of sheer and utter relief, Sniper collapses onto the sand. There. That should settle it.

 

* * *

 

 

Except it doesn't. Sniper is no longer falling out of windows to avoid Spy but he looks like he wants to, when Spy hobbles into the command centre so that they can all suffering the Administrator berating them for leading a mad sorcerer to the precious gravel pits they're warring over. The atmosphere is absolutely morose, and steadily dipping still when the warning sirens for the upcoming mission begins to blare. With Demo and Soldier back, Spy has absolutely no qualms hobbling right back to his room, mission be damned.

No one stops him, and within moments, he is stretched out his bed, with gloriously dry and unsoiled sheets tangled around his legs. Sleep ebbs and flows; there's that great, gnawing disappointment behind his ribs, but his body is so deliriously sore from the ploughing that it demands reprieve.

There is a knock on his door.

Spy cracks an eye open. The sky has darkened; it's nighttime and he's meant to be asleep. He closes his eye, and rolls onto his face.

There is another knock on his door, and huffing, groaning, Spy sits up and calls for Sniper to enter. It really can't be anyone else.

Sure enough, he soon has six feet of lanky, antsy Australian scuffing a bald spot into his carpeting with all the fidgeting he's doing. Nestled against his pillows, Spy is rather content to wait out his discomfort.

"Spy –" Sniper makes an abortive step towards him, then jerks back, then clenches his fists so tight that his knuckles turn white, and still Spy would only watch him silently, so he blurts out, "Thank you," of all things, "if there's any way I can repay you…"

"Hm," says Spy, then crooks a finger and beckons him closer, waiting expectantly until Sniper lowers himself hesitantly onto one knee by his bedside, before gripping his jaw and pulling him over.

It is a different sort of kiss, no longer vicious nor begging, and his tongue probes Sniper's mouth thoughtfully. He shivers as Sniper sighs and kisses back. It'd been too long, this tenderness, and he savours it. This was the wildfires of their earlier relationship tamed to smoldering embers that had never quite died out – this languid fondness, this possessive affection – that Sniper evidently reciprocates but does not want. Sniper left him. Sniper will leave him. Chest tight, Spy draws back again, expression carefully wiped blank.

"No thanks necessary," he says softly, and is proud that his voice doesn't crack.

"Right. Spy, I –" Sniper's voice does crack, and his expression looks as excruciating as Spy feels, but already he is turning to leave, running away again. "Just – thanks."

Spy's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist to stop him from standing. "What?" he demands. His grip is tight enough to bruise. "Say it! Spit it out!"

"I can't –"

"Don't you dare leave without a word!" Suddenly furious, Spy swings his legs off the bed, ignores it when his aching back twinges in protest. "Don't you dare do this to me again! Not again."

"But you already know! You already know I love you!" Sniper hisses, trying to tug his hand away halfheartedly. "And you obviously don't love me back! I know we were only supposed to be friends with benefits and I didn't mean to, but. But I do and it, it terrified me and I tried to leave but that all blew up in my face because I _still_ love you, so let me just leave and –"

There is a roaring in Spy's ears, albeit a very baffled roaring. "… Beg pardon? I obviously what?"

"You – you obviously don't –" Sniper's mouth opens, closes, throat working around half-formed thoughts, his breath coming in short. Unconsciously he drifts back to Spy, shifts cautiously, kneels before him. He licks his lips, and just barely above a whisper, asks, "Do you?"

"Hm," says Spy again, pulls him over by his jaw again and kisses him again, but this time when he draws back, he is smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> i bet you can't tell i was stressed when i wrote this lmao. tumblr [here](http://izazaa.tumblr.com)! 
> 
> (aaand a better, proper sex pollen fic here: [Golden Eyes by usedtobehmc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10624653), five gold stars, 10/10, would recommend.)
> 
> ((tentaspy update is almost done orz it should be up in a few days))


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